


Some Use Crying

by fujiidom



Category: You're The Worst (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Breakfast, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujiidom/pseuds/fujiidom
Summary: When the "it's complicated" label applies friendships, too.





	

Gretchen stumbles in with a waffle rolled up in her hand, vanilla ice cream dripping down her wrist and Jimmy makes a sound like a ostrich getting pelted by a golf ball. “Get off the rug, you’re going to make a mess!”

 

Gretchen shrugs with a childish smirk. “There’s a food truck parked on your street corner. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, this far from downtown, a food truck. What are the odds? But it’s so hot out it just started oozing down my arm.”

 

She swerves her delicate balancing of the thick Belgian waffle so that she avoids the area rug Jimmy’s now on his haunches wiping around. She hobbles over to the sink where she can drip and munch as the ice cream continues to slosh around and down her arm with abandon. 

 

Jimmy tuts from his place near the ground, getting a better view of her arm from this angle and seeing the multiple rivulets of warm ice cream dripping from her hand. “Ridiculous.”

 

Gretchen’s slight guilt at his initial rebuke fades at the chance to one-up his indignation. “Oh, what do you care? We fucked twice on that rug last weekend. Weren’t concerned when I was covered in sticky white stuff then, were ya?” Her mouth hangs open like she’d reach for a high five if her right hand weren’t full of melting ice cream.

 

“One night of pliant debauchery is not the same as having to put up with a rug smelling faintly of _old milk_ for the next three years.”

 

Gretchen scoffs. Then she takes a huge chomp out of the waffle and squeals when half the ice cream ends up in the sink. She indelicately shoves the remaining waffle in her mouth, the end not fitting entirely and slowly works her way through eating what remains. 

 

“S _hwh_ ooo goo _whh_ d,” she mumbles over the food.

 

“Revolting.” Jimmy squirts the Febreze twice.

 

.

 

Gretchen rolls the pen around the apple core to widen the hole and laughs. “She would say that. Last time Becca came out, we almost got hit with a civil disobedience charge.”

 

Jimmy grins, bemusedly. “What?”

 

“She told the cop who they called to throw us out of a Pollo Loco that he was only arresting us because we were white.”

 

“We were blocking the entrance and screaming, apparently that counts. For the record, I was screaming, ‘She’s my sister’s friend and I regret that she was invited to this chicken run,’ but I don’t think the guy was listening at that point.” Gretchen blows the leftover chunks of apple out the perpendicular hole in the apple and hands it over to Jimmy to fill with the nugget he’s broken apart.

 

“She’s the worst.” Jimmy takes the apple.

 

“I told Lindsay once that if I didn’t think it would affect her inheritance, I’d sell Becca's identity to that guy I went to Pilates with and wreck her credit, ruin her life.”

 

“Is that enough to ruin her life?” Jimmy asks as he hands the loaded up apple to her.

 

“I don’t know, probably? I have terrible credit and look at me.” Gretchen takes a hit off the apple and motions to the curb they’re sat on while concert-goers walk past by uncaring. 

 

Jimmy frowns. “Did someone steal your identity?”

 

She takes a second hit and shoves it over to him angrily. “No.” She pouts as he blows the smoke up into the air above them. “I just wanted a tortilla.” 

 

They sit in silence for a few moments and the apple passes back to Gretchen.

 

“Fuck Becca though, right?” Her voice trails off to a squeak as she inhales a lungful of smoke.

 

“She is the worst,” Jimmy agrees.

 

.

 

“So, let me get this straight.” Lindsay finishes her gin and tonic before signaling to a waiter to refresh her glass. “You have a car that you can drive around and you're not gonna get dosed or anything, but you’d rather me bring you to the dentist because you just don’t want to drive home afterwards?”

 

Gretchen rolls her eyes and sips at her still full glass of vodka and soda. “It’s not my fault they shame me so much. I always leave that place feeling like I’m gonna run into Kermit Gosnell in the waiting room.”

 

“What?” Lindsay says with an eye twitch. “Like the muppet? Were you on nitrous or something? Because you should at least ask for nitrous if you’ve got to get your entire jaw drilled off or whatever.”

 

Gretchen pinches the bridge of her nose. “I just can’t face the world right away after I go there, okay, and I would appreciate it if you gave me a ride home. It’s not like you’ve got plans.”

 

Lindsay scoffs. “Fuck you, I could make plans.” A fresh glass of gin and tonic is set before her. She stares off at a row of college-aged guys at the bar yelling about a soccer game on TV. She yells out, “WANNA MAKE PLANS?” and gets several askance glances. 

 

Gretchen lets the non-response from them hang for a moment as Lindsay gulps at her drink. “So, appointment is at one o’clock, we’ll need to leave by twelve at least.”

 

“Whatever. Tell your muppet friends that I’m the best friend ever because I usually only drive friends to abobos, not the freaking dentist. Like someone's mom.” 

 

“Well.” There’s a lot Gretchen looks ready to respond with but instead she just blows air and drinks more. 

 

“Why do you keep going there if they make you feel like shit?” Lindsay asks, sounding uninterested in the answer even as she asks the question. 

 

“I don’t know. It’s the only place I could walk to when I moved here.”

 

“But you don’t live there anymore,” Lindsay points out.

 

“Well, how do you even find a new dentist?”

 

Lindsay looks far off and shrugs. “The phone book.”

 

Gretchen snarls back, “How do you even find a phone book?”

 

“Google it,” Lindsay says. “Bing it. I don’t know. Find a payphone in an old people's restaurant that still has one underneath? Like _Back to the Future_.”

 

Gretchen groans at the table and throws back the remains of her vodka, crunching on the ice cubes when they fall into her mouth. “That’s all too adult for me right now. I just need to go tomorrow, let them yell at me for not going to see them for four years, get them to make that tooth stop aching and then go back to quietly avoiding going to the dentist for another four years.”

 

“Maybe they’ll have a phone book there?”

 

Gretchen laughs hard enough that her tooth hurts.

 

.

 

“I can tell it’s not waffles, but I won’t hold it against you,” Gretchen says with a lazy grin. Edgar grins back.

 

“It’s my Three Alarm habanero omelette with a side of bacon, guac, and wheat toast. There are some baby carrots and celery I can bring out, too, they were drying off.”

 

Jimmy and Gretchen both “ _BOO!_ ” the mention of vegetables and tear into their individual omelettes. 

 

“But I am gonna need, like, four more Bloody Mary’s please,” Gretchen says choking back the hot peppers but still adding hot sauce to her plate for dipping.

 

“Same,” Jimmy says over a mouthful of guacamole. 

 

Edgar does a little dance at the stove while he puts away all the trappings but for the celery and Bloody Mary mix. 

 

“Scoville was a pussy!” Gretchen yells out at random, taking another big bite and crying a little.

 

Jimmy’s mouth is distorted but full as he agrees, “What a dick!” 

 

Edgar returns with a pitcher of extra Bloody Mary mix and a plate of celery, sitting down next to the pair. Even though the kitchen reeks strongly of the peppers, he sniffs at the air. 

 

“It smells like milk in here,” he says.

 

“Fuck you!” they both yell back at him.


End file.
